


Small Favors

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: By Snapdragon.In which Sam plays doctor and Frodo gets a spoonful.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee, Rose Cotton/Sam Gamgee
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	1. Little Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: My name's not J.R.R. Tolkien, these aren't my boys, and I couldn't make any money off of this cliched drivel if I wanted to. So there!  
> Story Notes: Available upon request, if needed. Feel free to send comments and complaints, as well.

Samwise Gamgee's fingertips gently touched the dark molding of the entrance for the Bag End sitting room. The fireplace spilled golden light on the faces of Meriadoc and Peregrin. They were huddled in the worn velveteen and rather necessarily oversized chair. Merry had placed his arm around Pip's shoulder, Pippin's forehead pressed delicately under Merry's chin. His companion's auburn locks obscured Merry's lips, while he whispered reassuring sounds. They both gazed unblinking into the flame, dark furrows cleaving their young brows. They were deeply concerned for their older cousin. Sam bowed his head, and moist curls of sun-lightened gold covered his dark eyes. He turned toward the darkened hall, and made way for his own room. He listened to the remnants of the day's rainstorm, muffled by the hill overhead. 

Mr. Frodo was ill. 

Frodo walked through his days a hollow representation of the vitality he once owned, but then he smiled at Sam frequently, and would pat his hand and say, "Sam, my very dear Sam." Sam would brighten and give his fine white hand a squeeze, and offer some of the soothing tea Gandalf had dropped off for Frodo's aches and bouts of confusion. Ever his caretaker, Sam had hoped Frodo had forgotten most of his pain, but then this chilly March afternoon Frodo gazed upon the fire as though he was quite far away. His blue eyes were pale and unfocused as he chanted his memories aloud, as if reliving them in narration. Then, he fervidly scrawled pages of text, soon becoming restless, then violent, screaming and pushing Sam away weakly. Frodo muttered something about losing something, and having been worked up into such a state over it, swooned into Sam's arms. Sam eased the older hobbit into his bed, and arranged his lovely head upon the pillow. 

The other inhabitants of Hobbiton were quick to speak of their concern for Sam's charge, and praised him for his understanding toward 'that poor Mr. Baggins', but proffered little to help for their former deputy mayor. Their attention was now divided between the two hobbits gathered together by the fireplace, and toward Samwise himself. Charmed by his willingness for a challenge and his strength of back, they would often demand long hours of him to mend fences, prune new growth, even help in the raising of new homes. They would lavish him with their best spring lambs, warm cloaks, and choice tobacco; but for Frodo, they had nothing: neither time enough to listen, nor patience enough tend. 

Sam's own life and demands left him working late into the night, and woke him in the dawn hours. It had left him anxious, hungry, and tired. His latest task was to ready Bag End for its first baby in many years. He found he had time alone to think of his new family, and his older obligations. 

He reached the door to his bedroom. Pausing there, he could hear his young wife, Rose, restless in her late pregnancy, rustling through the pages of one of Mr. Frodo's books. He pushed open the door by leaning on it. He nodded toward Rosie's smiling face, pinched out the candles she was reading by, and pulled his braces off over his shoulders. "Shouldn't you be sleepin', night owl?" He smiled weakly and touched her outstretched finger tips. He kissed them, and leaned over her feet for a quick rub. 

Rose pulled back their blankets, "I suppose so, but then someone had other plans." She gently pulled him into bed, scooping the books up in her other arm. 

Sam's mouth twitched, and he sunk into the overstuffed featherbed stomach first. He didn't have the energy to discuss the thoughts that were racing through his head. He breathed into the large square pillow that was kinking his neck and finally tossed it on the floor, allowing a few feathers to find themselves airborne again. 

"Aren't you going to get undressed, Mr. Gamgee?" Rosie was quietly battling for his attention. 

Sam rolled over and kissed her briefly, but lovingly, and laid his head back down. "I don't think that I shall." He was staring at the ceiling with sunken eyes that were too tired to shut. 

Rose looked at him for a long while. She placed the books onto the nightstand and sighed. "He's been like this before." 

Sam tipped his head, "I know." 

"No you don't, Sam. I mean, he's been like this since you've been back." She placed a hand on her husband's shoulder and squeezed. "When you two were living at my father's. Dad never told you. He wasn't sure what to say." 

Sam's eyes glistened in the dark, but he didn't speak for several breaths. "Rosie, I...I can't help him." 

Rose pursed her lips. Since she'd known Sam she found him loving, protective, and quite capable of amazing things, but he was changed from the days she knew him when they were children. He suppressed his darker moods, but it didn't mean he lacked them. They surfaced most often in the nighttime: occasionally, he would crawl out of their bed onto the cool floor, and Rosie would hear him mumbling in his sleep. She used to try to wake him up, but recently she had been listening. Not all of it she understood, but then not all of it she found surprising, either. "You should talk with him. Now. Before there's more to think about than both of us can handle." 

When Sam made no motion towards getting up, she added, "I'll be fine. It's just down the hall, and Meriadoc is in next room. He'll hear me if you don't. Samwise, go." 

Sam shifted in the bed. He genuinely needed to see his friend, but he also was uncomfortable with what he might face in that bedroom. Ultimately, Rosie was right, things would change. Something was happening to Frodo, but also to himself. There were things he needed from Frodo before whatever was happening, happened. Frodo never mentioned what exactly he remembered, or what he felt about what took place during their travels. Sam needed to know now. 

He kissed his wife on the cheek, and noted that she was already lightly dosing. Her chubby arm was over her head and her expression was tensionless. He silently stepped to the door, avoiding every known creak from the floor. 

He passed Merry's open door on his walk down the hall. He was sitting at the guestroom's desk, rubbing his face. Sam stepped in without completely meaning to, knocking quietly on his door. Merry rushed up to hug him in the doorway. "I'm sorry we've been away, I didn't know." 

Sam's eyes watered, and he found it difficult to respond. He looked down at his hands. "I thought I'd see if he'd be needing anything." 

Merry opened his mouth intending to ask if Sam needed any help, but then he merely smiled and nodded. He heard movement outside the door, peeped his head out, and saw Pippin walking down the hall with a pitcher and three mugs precariously balanced in his hands. 

"Who could use a 'night-cap', as they say in dankest Bree?" He murmured as he offered one of the mugs to Sam. When Sam shook his head, Pippin shrugged in bravado. "Poor Sam. Ah well, more for me that way, I reckon." Pip walked into Merry's room, giving Sam a chance to excuse himself. Merry stepped out the room to watch Sam disappear into the darkened hallway. Pip silently tugged his shirt and proffered him a filled mug. He closed the door, accepting it. 

Sam froze at the end of the hallway. Then he turned, and his back collapsed against the wall next to Frodo's door. His legs buckled beneath him, and his spine slid down the rough stucco. He allowed his head to fall slowly into his knees as his splayed fingers worked upward through his scalp. "Oh..." His body shuddered with deep, rocking sobs, and Sam wept. 

At length he merely sat there, collecting his thoughts. Finally, he swallowed away the thickness he felt in his throat. With a sleeve, he brushed the saltwater trails down to his chin away, and walked toward his master's chamber. Without knocking for permission, he slowly pushed the door open with his palm. Sam lit a candle on the bureau, and let his eyes fall upon his dearest friend. Frodo's chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm of the ill, his eyes raced under their almost transparent lids, his pale lips slightly apart and inviting. Sam blew the candle out, intending to leave. 

The gloom was disorienting, and for a moment he merely stood silently in the room. His fists balled up, and he turned toward the sleeping figure."Why d'we do what we did back then? What was it, Mr. Frodo? Was it just comfort between blokes, was it duty, was it need, was it that blasted...thing?" He mumbled softly as he heavily stepped closer to the smallframed hobbit in the center of the fluffy white cotton sheets and dwarvish patterned quilts. Sam knelt aside Frodo's bed, and taking Frodo's smooth but wounded hand in Sam's hardened one, Sam leisurely sank his head onto the quilt above Frodo's small belly. His voice was hardly even a whisper, "Was it love?" Exhausted from crying, Sam's eyelids fell, and his knees rocked forward onto the floor as he tumbled into vivid dream.


	2. Little Death

Sam awoke to a light sensation moving across his nipple. He lazily raised a hand to scratch the offending area, when the sensation seemed to crawl decisively down his abdomen. Heavy tar-like soil and rocky grit rubbed against his back as he slid and jumped to his feet with a yelp. "What have we got here?!" Sam twisted his body, and quickly threw his vest over his shoulders, his dirty white shirt adding to the pile on the ground soon after. Sam found himself face to face with the largest centipede he had ever had the misfortune to share such a proximity. "Oh, no... now don't you...even..." Sam began trembling in spite of himself, and the creature resumed its path toward his trousers. 

"Fool, Samwise!" Sam leaned down backwards, and pawed at the dry sandy ground. A mess of sticks had been loosened from the bushes they had camped down by, and he gratefully picked one up. Holding it to where it just barely touched his skin, Sam closed an eye and tried not to breathe. He watched the centipede pause, then change directions: toward one of Sam's pecs. Sweating, but ever hopeful, he raised the twig to his chest, and the creature conceded into taking the bait. Sam watched, relieved and fascinated, its reddish black shiny body as it twisted headfirst around the stick. Its countless legs were moving in unison, its antennae examining each new target in its path. It was a potentially deadly tiny machine. This was almost heartening: a stubborn sign of life in a lifeless environment. "How d'you go about your day survivin' in this awful barren place, Mr. Bug? Because I'd be certainly happy for help in that particular area." He muttered, and twisted the stick around, allowing the creature to crawl up or down... 

"Sam?" A thick, half-asleep voice startled Sam out of his reverie, making him drop the stick with the much-affronted centipede. "What's going on?" Sam turned to Mr. Frodo, who had sat up and was squinting at him. 

"I...well, there was a..." Sam cleared his throat as he watched his master's blue eyes widen considerably. Sam looked down, and realised he was standing in front of his employer, mostly in the altogether. 

"And how did it involve taking off a good portion of your clothes?" There was the shadow of a smirk on his face. Frodo studied Sam's muscular chest, and youthfully thin tufts of tawny fuzz trailing down past visibility. He couldn't help but raise an amused eyebrow. 

"Mr. Frodo! I...oh, don't you tell me you've been watchin' me have a chat with that itty baddie!" Sam chuckled and crawled over to his shirt and vest, and pulled them on. He had wrapped his cloak tightly around Frodo last night, for which he was thankful. Even the dawn air was uncomfortably chilly. 

"I thought you were going to invite it to breakfast. What have you made for us this morning? I could do with a plate of kippers on toast and a pot of tea, old friend!" Frodo already laid back down and closed his eyes, and his tone was gentle and relaxed. Sam brought up the gray cloak to cover his master's shoulders and squeezed his hand lovingly. 

"Hmmm, well I know I'm a poor valet for it, sir, but I have a bit of stale crumbs and a couple sips of foul...well, I'm callin' it water." Sam eased himself down and curled up against Frodo's back, thought for a moment, and stood up again. He brushed the area with a fuzzy foot to assure they were both safe from stinging organisms for the time being, and brought his tired body back to the ground. 

"Sam?" Frodo had lifted his head and propped himself up with an elbow. 

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?" 

"If, beyond all chance, we make it to the mountain, how do you suppose you'll return home?" 

Sam frowned at the question, and the manner in which it was worded. "I shouldn't worry yourself over it, sir." He rubbed his dearest friend's narrow back. 

Frodo lifted an arm to shrug Sam's hands off. He rolled over with an incredulous expression, and wrapped his pale, almost bony fingers around Sam's upper arms. "And why not?! Sam, don't tell me you haven't thought about it! The Council knew it all along! This entire journey was hopeless from the beginning! How long can we survive like this? Everything is set for our failure!" 

Sam licked his cracked lips, and paused for a moment. "Aye...it may as well be a one-ticket ferry ride, but we're already in sight of land, if you catch my meaning, sir." Sam tipped his head to the side, wondering where this conversation was leading. He was watching the Ring, as it rocked to and fro on its chain from his master's movements. 

"Oh, Sam..." Exasperated, Frodo let his head fall backwards. 

"Perhaps it might make you feel a mite better to think about who you're doin' the task for, Master." 

Frodo closed his eyes, and rubbed them wearily. "Who, indeed? Many of my dearest friends and cousins have perished in this ordeal, my home sold to my wretched Aunt...I have no future. At least nowhere to live it, and no one to live it with." 

Sam's eyes flashed. He slid both his rough brown hands, fingers wide apart through his master's sable curls, and looked piercingly into the brilliant azure of Frodo's eyes. The older hobbit reached a hand up and clutched Sam's wrist in absolute surprise. "Mr. Frodo, you're goin' stop with that right now!" Sam's voice was abrupt, but absent of anger. He studied Frodo's fineboned features with concern. His thumb unconsciously rubbed Frodo's ashen cheek. 

Frodo realised his careless mistake, and began to shake. Sam's image blurred as tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sam...I'm sorry...oh..." His dear servant brought him closer, to cradle his head. Frodo's tears were crushed against Sam's striped vest, and Frodo relaxed. How could he say he had nowhere to go? Sam was home to him. This rough, sturdy hobbit smelled fresh and crisp, like the sharp Shire mornings, like the overgrown spearmint patches Bilbo never let Sam's old Gaffer thin, like moss and earth and everything, like Home. Sam began to rock slowly, clutching at Frodo a bit too tightly. 

Sam touched Frodo's chin to bring his face up to look each other in the eyes. The brunette hobbit blinked, speechless. Everything was horribly wrong, but somehow, for a moment, he was set apart from it. The Ring, Gandalf's death, his missing beloved cousins, they were outside of him, beyond his control. Sam was here with him, offering aid. He was reaching in, kissing the saltwater tears away, and that was just fine. They were the softest of touches, simply to reassure. 

The gesture healed, but also left a soft commotion in its wake. The tender kisses encouraged such consoling warmth, and Frodo found himself holding his breath. All the while, Sam's face was peaceful, comfortable. His friend wasn't merely administering for his master's pleasure; it was also for his own. 

Frodo watched as his fair companion leaned in once more to sup the liquid trail down his other cheek, and swiftly brought his mouth up toward Sam's heavy lips, and smoothed his hand down Sam's torso. Sam made a surprised noise deep into Frodo's mouth. In what moved like a leisurely summer day at Bag End, they separated. Frodo swallowed, suddenly nervous. Sam's cheeks had turned the unlikely color of rhubarb, his mouth was partly open, and his head was subtly tilted downwards. 

"You don't have to do anything...I thought you wanted..." Frodo felt ineffectual and fatigued. He leaned against the other hobbit, and spoke softly into the hollow of his throat. "You don't have to, Sam." 

Sam looked up, into the frigid gray sky, then leaned his cheek upon Frodo's head and took a deep breath. "Ask me. Ask me to do this, Mr. Frodo. I'll do for you. Please." Sam was shuddering, his large dark eyes full of worship. 

Frodo nodded, and absently tugged on Sam's shirt. "Then kiss me, Sam. And make me forget everything for just a short while. Be my home this morning." 

This permission unleashed a decade of illicit dreams for Sam. Sam tipped his head as his warm mouth sought Frodo's sweet cinnamon lips, and he whispered against them. "I've loved you...I don't care if its natural, or no." Frodo moaned a response, but it was lost as Sam flicked his tongue along the seam of his partner's lips. 

Frodo opened his mouth and let Sam's rough tongue tease the underside of his. Sam slid his arms around his master's waist and guided his friend down unto the Orc cloak that his master had been sleeping on. A quick movement of the younger hobbit's fingers had the sash around Frodo's tunic undone, and soon thereafter Frodo found himself bare from the waist up. "Perhaps you're checking for insect life?" A wan smile spread across his face. His cherished friend's flaxen halo reminded him of watching a sunrise as a child, and he drolly pretended to check it for ticks. 

Sam considered this with a mischievous smile and removed his own vest. "It's a good idea, sir." He carefully folded up their clothing and placed them over their small pile of weapons and armor. Then Sam spread his body over Frodo's, being very careful not to force his weight upon him, in his weakened state. He kinked his knee up by Frodo's hip, and stretched out the muscles of his other leg. His gray cloak cascaded down over his back, keeping them both warm. Frodo winced noticeably, and shook his forefinger inches from Sam's small nose in a mock chide. Gleeful, the other hobbit nipped his finger. 

"Please don't remind me of that. Anything but 'sir'." His own soft voice sounded far away and unimportant. He had found himself flushed at Sam's loving attentions before, but because of their awkward status he always bit his tongue when he genuinely craved so much more. His spine tingled with joy at their long-last contact, but there was a certain relief with it as well. 

Sam was much of the way through a succession of kisses up Frodo's hand, wrist, and arm that led to his scarred shoulder. "Shush now," he purred, and purposely tickled his precious friend's throat with his tongue. Carefully avoiding the sparkling chain, Sam nibbled up to the area below Frodo's ear. A small amount of suction there had Frodo running his fingers down Sam's spine. Sam's eyes brightened as he felt his shirt being rolled up, and he nuzzled his nose along Frodo's jaw. He backed away dreamily and tipped his head to the side, awaiting further instructions. 

Frodo pulled Sam's shirt over his head. He traced his lover's gardener tan lines with a finger, and examined every sinew of hard-earned weight. Then he leaned up to whisper in Sam's ear. "If you've stopped because I only asked you to kiss me, please don't...after all, what is a kiss? Just some contact with the lips, surely." Frodo kissed Sam's ear softly before tracing its pointed form with his tongue. 

Sam's head reflexively tipped back and he emitted a low grunt. His eyelids closed halfway as he felt his master's hand brush down his sides and stomach to loosen his trousers and push them down. Frodo's legs swiftly kicked them the rest of the way off. Cool fingers tickled the depression above his thigh, in revenge for Frodo's neck, causing him to squirm and gasp. He was beginning his own struggle with Frodo's trouser buttons and this distraction only made his task more difficult. He shook his head, "If you keep to that path, nothing will get done!" He gave up on the buttons, and since the breeches were big enough, he pulled them off Frodo without unfastening any. He cooed as he ran his hands over Frodo's thin, but graceful form: nude, but for one unfortunate piece of jewelry. Sam frowned slightly and tried to put it out of his mind. He didn't find it challenging. 

"I beg to differ..." Frodo's eyelids fluttered innocently as he made a spectacle of licking his palm. Before Sam had time to protest any further, he lovingly massaged between Sam's legs. He then moved his hand up to gently grip Sam's base. His skin there felt like soft worn velvet, and his desire was evident by his physical state. Sam's body temperature seemed to raise several degrees from his touch, and they simultaneously moaned. 

Sam found himself grinding his hips into Frodo's hand. Their shared kisses became more urgent. Sam sucked Frodo's bottom lip, then abruptly let go. His hardened form lifted from Frodo's grasp, "oh, dear! This wasn't how it was supposed to be!" He hadn't wanted Frodo's thrilling ministrations to stop, but believed the agreement was that he was supposed to be doing the serving. 

The young hobbit's discomfort was understandable to Frodo. They hadn't exactly begun this affair on equal terms. He smoothed a damp curl from his panting companion's forehead. "Sam, will you permit me your pleasure? You've done more for me already than you know." Frodo kissed him tenderly. 

Sam's answer was a wide-eyed nod. His lips drew apart and the two lovers collapsed into the deepest kiss of the morning. At length, Frodo sat up, encouraging Sam to do the same. He wrapped his arm around Sam, holding the back of his head. He brought his legs around Sam's waist, and kissed him again, allowing his lips to work their way across Sam's chest. He moistened his hand again, and more slowly this time, loosely stroked Sam. Sam clutched the other hobbit ever closer to him, finally feeling the cold metal between them. Sam impulsively rewarded him with the soft cries of ecstasy. Frodo was humming a wordless response deep in his throat. Reveling in the musky saline taste of Sam's perspiration, his kisses dropped lower so he could capture one of Sam's nipples in his mouth. 

"Ah!" Sam bit his lip and tried to steady his breathing. His body felt too full of life, and Frodo's actions would soon prove this. He white-knuckled the cloak he still held around them. 

Frodo noticed Sam's building pressure as his palm became slightly more slick. He suddenly wanted to feel Sam's heated body over him. "Yes, oh Sam...here, between my thighs," he breathed in Sam's ear, and reclined, leaning on his hands. 

Sam rearranged his body so quickly the ground crunched beneath his knees. He licked the inside of Frodo's thighs briefly, but passionately enough to cause Frodo to tremble. Sam stored this information for further use, and straddled Frodo there. Arching over to kiss each slightly sunken hollow between Frodo's ribs, Sam thrust himself between his lover's thighs. Weakening, Sam leaned on one hand placed on the ground by Frodo's side. He lowered down again, laying some of his weight on the lighter hobbit, and resting his head on Frodo's chest. Each of the thrusts put friction on Frodo, and he whimpered sounds of encouragement. 

Sam needed none. He stifled a triumphant cry into Frodo's breastbone, as his body tensed and released several times. Tremors of liquid heat flowed through his body, and in his enthusiasm, he nibbled Frodo's skin roughly. "Ah, Frodo...I love you, I love you..." The words were so quiet, hardly even a whisper. 

Frodo watched, fascinated and also heated from Sam's passion, as his dearest friend rested upon him for several moments, catching his breath. He sighed, stroking Sam's back, while he waited. 

Sam lifted his head, and licked his lips before kissing Frodo's new tiny wounds. "Dear me! What did I do to you?" The marks from Sam's bites were not bleeding, but they were reddish and raised. Sam then took inventory of Frodo's gashes and bruises and began carrying out a hasty plan of superstitiously kissing the pain from each one. 

Frodo waved a hand dismissively, and then used it to pull Sam up for a kiss. "It's nothing. I should be glad I`m not more of a meal. I might not have ever left this dust bath of a bed." He mirthfully rubbed Sam's nose with his own, and kissed him this time on his sleepy eyelids. "Or perhaps that would have been fine, after all." 

Sam smiled, hungrily savoring Frodo's kisses like sugared ginger for a while longer when it came to his mind that the other hobbit was probably in pain in a much lower place by now; and that Frodo had told him exactly how to cure this particular ailment. "Those kisses are terribly distracting, my dear. Now...what did you say a kiss was, again?" Sam winked and licked a leisurely path from Frodo's throat to his groin. He playfully bit at the dark fur that welcomed him there. He settled in between Frodo's legs and held onto his waist. Their time together felt too brief for much more good-natured teasing. 

Frodo felt his heart pound as if it was trying to escape his tired body. He leaned farther back, and now leaning back on his elbows, one of his knees was bent. Sam wrapped his fingers around Frodo, as Frodo had done to him; then took Frodo slowly into his mouth. The elder hobbit gasped and worked his fingers through Sam's hair. Sam was applying the gentlest of suction, but his rough tongue was massaging Frodo in a manner that forced him to lie down for fear of collapsing. His slender back arched and his other hand seemed to be looking for something to squeeze. Desperately, he rolled the Ring between his thumb and forefinger, but it only gave him an unsatisfying chill. He blissfully opted for gripping Sam's thick hand, instead. 

The exotic but familiar sharp scent of Frodo's skin exhilarated the young hobbit, and he gave up control by reading the other's moans and subtle movements. He met Frodo's impassioned thrusts with ease, and began moving his hand up and down for more friction. 

Frodo's body reacted by trembling in anticipation for several moments, then he started a lively session of pulling at Sam's fair mane. He understood that Frodo was implicitly warning him, as Sam could already taste his master's fulfillment. He intended to ignore his master's needless pleas, but they became more insistent. "No, Sam, don't...please...I-I haven't...please stop!" 

Sam kissed his way up to Frodo's mouth, confused. "What is it, Frodo? He mopped Frodo's forehead with his cloak. He laid his body down upon Frodo and moved slowly. "What haven't you done?" 

Frodo swallowed and traced Sam's jaw line with a finger, studying his features. Sam licked his crimson swollen lips, and Frodo closed his eyes so that he could concentrate. Was this completely selfish of him? Sam had responsibility after this adventure, while he only had the slow march of time to enjoy the ensuing madness of being parted with the Ring. Sam would be needed, but he would be unnecessary. His tale would be told, and Sam's was just closing a chapter. More importantly, Sam had someone waiting for him, someone who could give him everything he had ever wanted and Frodo could never give. 

Sam had rolled them over so he wouldn't crush his companion under his weight. Frodo laid his head upon his former gardener's shoulder because he found he couldn't look him in the eyes. "I...I just wanted to say that I was cold, Sam." 

"Oh! Bless you." Sam wrapped the cloak around them again, as it had slid down beside their legs."There, there...all cozy." He continued to press his body into Frodo with blind determination. Frodo's form went practically limp, too weary to make much of an effort. The stronger hobbit's hands were gripping Frodo's waist, and their legs were tangled together . 

Frodo merely sighed softly into Sam's mouth as he rocked in a spasm, allowing all his body's tension to flow onto Sam's belly. His partner's arms quickly enveloped Frodo's body and held him so close that Frodo had two reasons to gasp for air. 

Frodo closed his eyes for a long time, and felt the slow raise and fall of Sam's ribs underneath him. He frowned at the conflict between comfort at the thread of security that Sam had attempted to provide for him, and his disappointment in himself. He should have given his young companion the respect to choose his own path. He should have been screaming his joy over Sam's loving promises. He had only accomplished to curse both of them by his silence. At the moment, he wasn't even certain of his own reasoning. Sam loved him, and perhaps some part of Sam needed Frodo to love him back, although he'd never say so. Sam was an adult and had a right to whomever he wished. He didn't need Frodo to withhold happiness from him just because it wasn't the life Frodo would have chosen for him. 

No, that wasn't an appropriate judgment, either. Acutely, Frodo knew that he would let Sam down if they became lovers. He already felt as if he were his own shadow, fated to fade and ultimately, to disappear. And Sam would have nothing: not his Mr. Frodo, and not happiness, moreover. 

Eventually, he yawned softly and Sam's embrace loosened a small degree. He made an attempt to shake off his dark mood with a lighthearted lilt he didn't feel. "So, did I escape those pests last night?" Frodo gazed down upon Sam, who managed to look concerned and sedate simultaneously. 

"No..." Sam raised his eyebrows and lightly touched the small mark at the point where his partner's clavicle met his breastbone with his fingers, then blew on it softly. "I'm quite sure you've been bitten." 

Frodo shook his head and dismounted Sam. He stroked his companion's tanned arm distractedly. 

Sam sat up and rubbed Frodo, then himself down with the Orc cloak. He unfolded the tunic Frodo was wearing and snapped it in the air. "There we are, sir." Sam slid the tunic over his friend's head, noting the gooseflesh that had already appeared over Frodo's arms. He wriggled into his own clothes, and watched Frodo's legs rub together for warmth. He couldn't shake the feeling that Frodo was dissatisfied with his actions, and a tightness formed in his chest. He looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry if it wasn't...if you didn't..." Frodo gave him at wretched look and silenced his apology. 

Frodo wrapped Sam's cloak around himself, doubled over as if he had a stomach ache. "We're not home after all, are we Sam?" He ritually rotated the Ring around with his thumb and forefinger several times. 

Sam laid down and crushed Frodo to his chest. He muted his sobs into Frodo's hair, and massaged his master's limbs dutifully.


	3. Little Life

Sam felt a light pressure on his arm jolting him awake, and looked up to Mr. Frodo's sapphire eyes shining in the darkness. "It's all right, Sam. It's just me. I didn't mean to startle you." 

"Bless me, Mr. Frodo, I suppose I fell asleep." Sam rubbed his eyes. He saw the pale blue and yellow glimmer of dawn outside the partly open window. It smelled like rain in the room. "I came in here to check on you last night. Be...be sure you were all right." 

Frodo slowly smoothed down the sheets of his large bed. "It was nice to have the company." 

"Merry and Pippin came over. They wanted to see you." Sam smiled at Frodo; he seemed to have recovered for the time being. "I said that you weren't feelin' yourself." 

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday. I must have given you a fright for you to feel that you had to sleep kneeling on the floor by my bed." Frodo's tone let Sam know that he was merely teasing him, and it made the other hobbit chuckle to avoid feeling embarrassed. Sam shifted on his knees and rubbed his palms together. Frodo suddenly looked pained. "Sam, not just yet. Please stay. I didn't mean for you to leave." 

"I'm not going nowhere, Mr. Frodo." Sam spoke softly, afraid of shattering the fragile form before him. He took Frodo's hand in his, and raised it to his lips. 

"Sam?" 

"Yes?" 

"Do you have everything you've wanted in your life?" Frodo looked at their intertwined fingers. 

Sam squeezed Frodo's hand. "Aye, I do, I've everything I've wished for. Do you, sir?" 

Frodo slowly turned the young hobbit's unadorned gold wedding band around Sam's tan finger. "No!" Though Frodo was smiling, and he pinched Sam's arm with his free hand. "Now sing to me and dress me! Let us take a walk outside, Sam, my dear friend!" Frodo slid his hand up to Sam's shoulder and prepared to leap out of bed. 

Sam helped his master to the floor, then pulled trousers, shirt, and weskit from the wardrobe. He softly crooned a song his Gammer sang to him when she woke him in the early morning as a small child. As Frodo usually dressed himself, Sam was surprised and heartened by the rare request. He cheerfully buttoned the buttons of Frodo's shirt, noting Rosie's perfect ironing seams. When the older hobbit was fully dressed, Sam led him over to the looking glass on the wall. "There you are, sir!" 

"Quite!" The thin hobbit ran his hands primly down his sides. "Ah well, let's not waste any more of that fresh air out there. I feel the need to touch the crocuses, and welcome the spring!" Frodo's reflection tugged at a graying curl at his temple and Sam's image quickly tucked it behind his ear. 

"I've no doubt you are feeling better!" Sam brought his braces back over his shoulders and combed his fingers brusquely through his hair. 

"Yes, I think I am. I was confused for a bit, but now I've come home, Sam." Frodo breathed deeply and opened the door to the hallway. He leisurely strolled out of his room, leaving Sam for the moment, heading toward a chatter of voices in the direction of his kitchen. There he noted Merry and Pippin already raiding his cupboards for first breakfast. 

The dried tansies Sam had scattered on the kitchen floor to keep flies at bay crunched under Frodo's feet as he walked. Merry looked up from the peppered bacon he was slicing. 

Pip waved his arms. "Well, his highness is up!" 

"Yes, I am." Frodo winced at the volume of Pip's voice and itched his ear. "I had heard you two were visiting...indeed, I heard you all the way down the hall." He glanced over to find them looking at each other, anxiety evident on their faces. Frodo laughed and held out his hands. "Who better to help brighten my day than my favorite cousins?" 

Pippin jumped over the table and embraced Frodo with such exaggerated momentum, the taller hobbit nearly knocked Frodo over. "Sam said you were feeling poor. He asked us to fix breakfast. Imagine that!" 

Merry nodded and put down his knife and rubbed his hands in a towel while he walked around to squeeze Frodo's arm. "He was so worried about you. We all were." Merry lowered his voice conspiratorially, "Though I think he blamed himself for not understanding what was wrong with you." 

Frodo placed his hand on Merry's head in reassurance. "I'm fine. I feel fine." He was feeling better, but it felt like a lie, nonetheless. 

Pippin released his cousin and ran back to his chore of fixing the sweet buns. "We can discuss it just as well while we eat! It'll all be ready shortly." He looked up and frowned as Frodo shook his head and walked toward the foyer. 

"Sam and I are going for a bit of a hike. We'll be back for next breakfast. The honey's in the green jar; that's the sorghum, Pip. " Frodo patted the pockets in his pants and weskit as if he had misplaced something, then ruffled his hair and shrugged. "And don't forget Rose!" 

Sam walked in, leading a rather unsteady Rosie by the hand. He sat her down by the kitchen table and kissed her on the ear. She whispered something to him, and he shook his head. 

"Well? Come on, then!" Frodo threw a cloak over Sam's shoulders and buttoned his own cloak around his neck. He slid his arm inside the crook of Sam's elbow, and marched him to the front door. Frodo opened his circular front door and stepped through. Dewy grass tickled his toes and heady crisp air greeted his lungs. He started off along the road, and Sam padded along on his left side. 

They walked for a long while in silence. Sam seemed to check every tiny seedling he had planted, squishing aphids and plucking brown leaves. The sun had risen, and the Shire was slowly waking up. Tiny birds were well along in their early morning hunger serenade. "Let's go to the Water, Mr. Frodo. You will find your spring flowers there, I'll warrant!" 

Frodo nodded, and they continued on the path toward Bywater. All around his companion, life seemed to burgeon and burst. Frodo stroked Sam's hand. "You're all grown up and respectable, Samwise. Even the sun shows up to admire you." As they walked, more rays escaped from behind the scattered clouds leftover from yesterday's storm and brightened the road before them. 

Sam ran ahead and sang his jolly melody once more as he approached the riverbank. He picked a flat stone up, and skipped it to the other side. He turned around to call Frodo over to behold a mother duck and her six newly hatched offspring hiding in the milkweed and cattails, when Sam's heart froze. Frodo was sprawled out by a partially charred tree, his legs twitching in seizure. 

Vivid pictures inundated Frodo's mind like rushing water, suffocating his sense of reality: Sam carrying a tiny hobbit child, a lass with golden hair, in his arms; an ancient Bilbo, blind and senile; a grand and beautiful ship; the sea, an infinite landscape constructed of blues and greens; Peregrin palm to palm with a lass dressed in sparkling white, kissing her tenderly; Saradoc, wrinkled and trembling, tying his sash around Merry's waist; Sam showing his son Frodo how to chop firewood, sweat running down his back from exertion; a funeral, and Sam piling handful upon handful of pale flowers on a mound of earth; Merry and Pippin riding tall ponies toward Strider and his radiant wife... 

Frodo fell into the present suddenly, with a shattering scream he hadn't known he was emitting. It was muffled from Sam's thumb, pressed firmly against his tongue. He was bent over Sam's knees, and the other hobbit was curled around him with his cheek pushed against Frodo's back. Sweat was stinging his eyes, and he felt cold. His hand was tightly clutching a useless charm around his neck. Sam pulled his finger out, and Frodo noticed deep red teeth marks. He felt his friend's strong arm slide under his body, preparing to pick him up. 

Sam leaned back when he realised Frodo had stopped his violent tremors. "Master! Is there nothin' I can do for you?!" The panicked cry came from deep inside Sam's throat. He wiped the icy droplets from Frodo's forehead. Had this happened before? Why hadn't he known? 

Frodo turned toward his friend, and his eyes focused. He pressed his hand onto Sam's shoulder. He allowed it to slide down the young hobbit's arm, grasping the hand Sam had used to prevent him from choking during his episode. The marks on the younger hobbit's thumb had already disappeared. Frodo`s eyes watered as he understood: Sam's wounds healed. His own unfortunate injuries were quite permanent. 

He absently scratched the tiny white streaks below his collarbone. Sam lifted Frodo up and cradled him in his muscular arms. "No, Sam. There's nothing you can do. And soon there'll be no poultice, no remedy, and no amount of wishing that will help, either. But there's something I should do for you before that happens. Please, let me back down. I wish to rest here for a while." Sam placed Frodo back down by the tree. His touch was exceptionally gentle, as if he was handling a precious strain of orchid. 

Frodo leaned back against the tree, wounded but still very much alive. "I was troubled that I might not have the strength to do something very important, and I fear that I now must pretend that I do." He sat up then and leaned into Sam's chest. He felt the other hobbit's arms comfortably wrapping around him. "I only wanted to tell you that I am so happy for you, dear friend. You do have everything that you've dreamed of, and many things that you never knew you wanted: a family to care for, a home surrounded by the prettiest garden in Hobbiton, an esteemed place in the Shire..." Frodo unbuttoned his shirt partly, and brought the younger hobbit's hand to his pale chest. Sam's large dark eyes softened, his fear dispersing in his blood. "And indeed even this feeble hobbit's heart. You deserve to know that, Sam. You deserved to all along." 

"Oh, Frodo!" Sam shook his head, disbelieving. He touched Frodo's palm and pushed it away gently. Frustrated, he stood up and wiped the ash residue off his hands and onto his trousers. 

Frodo looked up and squinted, he only saw Sam's outline against the bright sky. "Once I asked something of you, and although it was valuable to me, I was...distracted and I disregarded it. And I know, even though you won't allow yourself to think that way, that it hurt you. I hurt you." 

Sam's tragic countenance melted into exultant wonder. He blushed sweetly, and kneeled back down by Frodo's side. "Don't you think on it no more." 

Frodo folded himself back into Sam's arms, dirtying his clothing from rubbing his body against the damp murky soil. He smiled at Sam's raised eyebrow. "I suppose I could remind you, that you did rush into my room last night making some fairly fierce demands." 

"Oh. That I did." Sam expressed his grateful defeat, and this time his blush reached to the points on his ears. 

"And it no doubt should have been said long ago. This is neither the time nor the place to be discussing this." Frodo frowned as fragments of this morning's visions flashed in his mind. Sam and Rosie's first child was to be born any day now. 

The wind seemed to change then, and it whipped through their hair. "I see." Sam lifted his chin up, and touched one hand to the ground. His voice was soft and thick. "And where are we, sir?" 

"Sam? We're lying by the Water, outside of Hobbiton." Frodo interlaced his fingers around Sam's head. He expected the young hobbit to ask him if he could remember his own name next. 

Sam brushed some of the black grit he had gathered on his hand onto Frodo's forehead and cheek with his fingertips. "No, Master. If you catch my meaning," Sam was so close, Frodo felt Sam's humid breath on his pale lips. "We're miles away." He spoke slowly, and the words seemed to echo around them. Sam leaned in a bit more and their noses barely touched. 

Frodo felt the pain in his heart loosen, and it was hundreds of miles and a year away when he closed his eyes.


End file.
